Page:A Century of Roundels.djvu/33

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15
A Dead Friend.


II.

Friend of many a season fled,
 What may sorrow send
Toward thee now from lips that said
 'Friend'?


 Sighs and songs to blend
Praise with pain uncomforted
 Though the praise ascend?


Darkness hides no dearer head:
 Why should darkness end
Day so soon, O dear and dead
 Friend?